


Captive Prince but Damen dies on loop

by PumpkinChair



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen, Major character death - Freeform, he should have died so many times over, i have no apologies, its all about Damen dying, rewritten or original scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinChair/pseuds/PumpkinChair
Summary: Some may think, on the surface, a coup is a loud and bloody affair, a clash of swords and rallied anger. Some may think it comes from an outside force displeased, betrayed, inferior to the current ruling party. Prince Damianos, no; Damen, learned too late that a coup can come from the inside, a silent, sinister affair, a clash of wit and rallied loyalty.orI read Captive Prince and noticed some.... unlikely lucky situations.





	Captive Prince but Damen dies on loop

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is when I believe Damen should have died the first time
> 
> No offense to the author but, Damen should be super dead

It's late, or early morning, when they come for Damen. He's lying amongst the finest silks on his bed, alone for the first time in a long while. Insistent hands push and pull at his body, heavy with muscle and sleep and strength. He's roused, grumpily, by the shouts of guards and the chaos unfolding in front of him, his eyes barely cracked open. The guard pulling him up, up by his arm, rough, wears the crest of his brother, a crest that is barely a crest at all, almost forgotten as his house was pushed to the side. Damen is slow, slow to stand and slow to be pulled, moved from his bedchambers and into the unlit hallway. The floor is cold underfoot and its enough to spark some awakeness into his system. The guards are pushing, shouting, and Damen begins to mumble, to ask questions, to demand where they are taking him. Where are his own guards? Where are they going? What is the meaning of this? His words fall on deaf ears, deafened by obedience. They're just following orders, orders of the King. Damen is groggy, led to the throne room; he knows the path by heart. They stop, leave him, pushed down into a kneel before the King's throne and its silent save for their retreating footsteps. They're lined against the walls, back straight and eyes ahead and Damen is kneeling on the floor, the rug plush under his knees as he waits. He's a little more awake now, awake enough to feel the chill of early morning and look around the room. It's dark without the torches lit and the sun to filter though the high, exposed windows.

He can hear, faintly, approaching footsteps. It's only a few moments before another group of guards bustle into the open space, their steps confident and unhurried. Kastor follows after, dressed in royal silks and jewelry, those of higher standard they usually wear. He dismisses his guards with a wave of his hand, meandering his way up to the throne, and he sits, heavily with all his weight to hear the chair creak. Kastor regards Damen with an easy smile, feet pressed firmly to the ground before him. It's silent, tense for a moment before Kastor speaks, with the ease of a man that holds the world in the palm of one hand.

"Father is dead." It's easy the way the words fall from his lips, impersonal as if it means nothing to him, like he's just talking about the weather. Damen had known this day was coming; their father had been fading and it was only a matter of time before he finally passed. Damen had been preparing, studying and training to take his place in a seamless and painless transition. Damen went to stand, to rise from his knees and assume the role he was meant to fill, but a foot pressed to his shoulder keeps him still, the leathers digging into his bared skin. Damen stares up at his brother, at his smile and dark eyes, and wonders, briefly, if he's still stuck in a dream state. Kastor motions for the guard closest to him to hand over his sword, and the uncrowned prince tests the weight of the steel in his hands, eyebrows raised in appreciation of the quality before he turns, pressing the tip of the blade between Damen's eyes.

"Father is dead," He repeats, and Damen feels the blood rushing in his ears and the beginnings of cold fear flushing through his veins. "And I am to take his place as King." There's the unspoken, unneeded words of Damen's fate, laid out upon the steel between his eyes. Kastor presses forward, digging the blade in to watch the blood bubble to the surface and run down Damen's face, breaking into two streams at his nose. His blood is bright, yet dark in the low light and Kastor seems pleased with it nevertheless. He moves the blade to run deftly alone the scars Damen has acquired on his upper body. Damen is left without words, the break in his skin throbbing lightly with muted pain, and his skin tingles, muscles close to spasm of phantom slices. There's a scare, on his abdomen, where Kastor had run him through on his thirteenth birthday. He'd thought he was ready, ready to be a real man and fight with a sword but he'd been mistaken, mistaken like he is now as his brother pushes the blade through the same spot, the scar easily giving way to the slow glide of pristine steel, a sharp blade with even sharper meaning. Damen cries out, weakly, as blood bubbles and spills over his skin, the blade, the silks, and the floor, and Kastor is still smiling the same smile, and holding Damen down with a single foot. It feels almost unreal, the pain detached from Damen's racing thoughts and he's lost, lost to the notion his brother has stabbed him with intent. Blood spills from his mouth, coughed up from internal wounds as the blade is withdrawn, pressed to his throat as Kastor leans even closer, nearly nose to nose. He stares as Damen sputters blood, chest heaving through the inhales laced with pain and the exhales promising death. Blood is pouring and he can't move, eyes focusing only on the ones in front of him and body limp.

"Brings back memories doesn't it?" Kastor's voice is cruel, void of familiar warmth, as he presses his other foot harshly into the wound to hear Damen cry out again, a high broken sound that has his body shuddering, folding in to break away from the pain, but it only brings his throat in tighter against the blade and fresh blood coats it red. "With the King's death, brings the rise of another." Kastor is swift in the draw of the sword, slicing easily through Damen's neck and letting him slump, gasping, onto the carpet below. Kastor rises, with the grace of a satisfied lion, dripping sword at his side. He hands it off, staring down at his brother's body as the light drains from his eyes, the color bleeding from his face, and the naivety hardening into bitter understanding.

**Author's Note:**

> i like kudos and comments and things thanks


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